


christmasstuck prompts

by galacticAcolyte (coffee_goth)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, F/M, Humanstuck, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 11:12:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffee_goth/pseuds/galacticAcolyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>christmas prompts given to me on tumblr!<br/>day 12: vriska/karkat: "Vriska invites Karkat to her hive for christmas since he's all alone for the holidays, and he is welcomed by a lavishly decorated home and a bragging Vris."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. vriskat - christmas party

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: Vriska and Karkat go to a Christmas party together facing their exes for the first time since their breakups. (for santalizard)

Eggnog should be illegal.

It’s not just that it’s disgusting (though that’s a major reason—really, who thought of _eggnog?_ Even the name sounds foul) but the fact that _everyone,_ no matter what, _always_ acts like an idiot when they get drunk off of it. Normally, Karkat would think this is hilarious. Normally, he would be enjoying the spectacle of his friends and acquaintances making utter fucking fools of themselves with gleeful abandon.

But tonight, he is cursing eggnog, along with mistletoe, girls, douchebags in shades, and every fucking stupid Christmas party ever.

All he’d wanted was a bathroom. Karkat might be a masochist and a self-destructive shithead, but he did not actively go looking for Terezi, no matter how badly he’d wanted to. He’d been getting over her, dammit; he’d actually sort of been having something that could have potentially been construed as fun! But then he stumbled upstairs because he needed to piss, and bumped—quite literally—into Terezi. Who was sucking face with Dave fucking Strider.  And they didn’t even fucking notice.

Karkat fucking hates Christmas.

*

“I am _soooooooo_ drunk right now,” Vriska giggles.

“Oh, for God’s sake.”Kanaya shifts on the couch, knocking Vriska’s head off her shoulder. Vriska slumps back into the cushions.

On the other side of Kanaya, Rose sits primly, watching the crowd with cool, unamused calm. She makes Vriska feel even more trashed just by existing. Vriska bets she hasn’t had a sip of eggnog all night. (God, that stuff should be illegal.)

“Do you think John’s here?”

Kanaya sighs, exasperated. “ _No,_ Vriska, we are not having this conversation again. You cannot go looking for him. _Especially_ not like this.”

Vriska sets her lips into her best pout. “I just want to say _hi,_ Fussyfangs. He said we could still be friends!”

“He also said you should try to get over him, and he would do the same,” Rose adds, her lip curled. She is such a bitch. Vriska hates her. “Getting so drunk that you can barely walk straight is not getting over him in a healthy fashion.”

“Fuck you,” says Vriska. “I bet he misses me. I bet he still loves me. You don’t know anything.”

“Vriska, no,” Kanaya says sharply, but Vriska stands—only stumbles once, she notices, savagely glad—and hurries off towards the kitchen, hoping she looks as viciously gorgeous and vindicated as she thinks she does.

John is exactly where she thought he would be. He’s standing right in the entryway to the kitchen, next to the keg, even though Vriska knows the only thing in his cup is root beer, He never drinks. She liked—likes—that about him. There’s a sprig of mistletoe taped to the doorjamb above his head, which could not have been more perfect if she had planned it.

“Heeeeeeeey,” she says, and John looks up. Vriska smiles.

“Mistletoe,” she says, and points.

John’s eyes grow wide. “Vriska, no, you can’t, we broke up—“

Vriska leans in and kisses him, hard, and puts her hands around his waist, and he is so familiar and wonderful that she wants to cry. She has missed him so much.

John mumbles something into her mouth, and she sighs and presses into him, so glad they’re okay now, she knew he still loved her too—

He pushes her away. His eyes—his beautiful blue eyes—do not look turned on or in love. They look frustrated. They look disappointed.

“We _can’t ,_ Vriska,” John says gently, and pushes at her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

“But—“

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, and heat rushes up to fill Vriska’s face. He turns and walks away and her eyes burn. She is humiliated.

She rushes out of the kitchen blindly, covering her face with her hands.

*

It took a while for Karkat to find an empty room. The house is big, and upstairs is a warren of dark hallways and rooms, almost all of them full of disgustingly drunk and shameless couples. He has to go to the very end of the hall to find one that’s empty, though it reeks of beer and sweat.

Karkat sinks down by the side of the bed, splaying his legs out on the carpet, and leans back. The ceiling is covered in little glow-in-the-dark snowflakes. He stares at them, squinting until they blur together.

It’s snowing outside. The street is soft and quiet, lit only by sparse streetlamps that catch the flakes in their glare, and Karkat feels as if he’s sitting inside a shaken snow globe.

There’s a loud footstep, and Karkat whips around, already on guard.

“ _Heeeeeeeey,_ ” says a very visibly drunk Vriska Serket, clinging to the doorframe for support. “Is this room empty?”

“No,” says Karkat, but she smiles wantonly and crashes in, collapsing next to him by the bed. “Thanks,” she slurs. “Thanks…what’s your name? Kirk?”

“Karkat.”

“Thaaaaaaaanks, Karkat.”

“You’re a mess.”

“I know.”

Vriska falls silent, seemingly entranced by the snow. She’s sort of pretty in a sharp, angular way; Karkat wonders if he’d cut himself on her elbows if he tries to touch her.

“Can I tell you something, Karkat?” she asks, and then plunges ahead without waiting for a response. “I’m an idiot. I’m a naïve embarrassment of an idiot. I’m completely fucking trashed. And I hate Christmas,” she adds, almost as an afterthought.

Karkat listens, interested against his will. Vriska is very different from her regular self when she is drunk, it seems.

“Hey, it’s like we’re in a snow globe,” she giggles.

“You’re completely batshit insane,” Karkat says, but he means it affectionately.

After a moment, Vriska puts her head on Karkat’s shoulder. She smells like eggnog and, beneath that, some kind of sweet perfume. Karkat doesn’t know why he lets her stay there—curiosity, maybe, or loneliness—but her edges are softer when they’re pressed up against him.

“Am I unlovable?” she asks softly.

Karkat thinks about everything that he’s ever heard about Vriska—about all the rumors, the whispers about who she’d pissed off or hurt or broken up now, about her long, seemingly-stable relationship with his friend John. Even that ended, though; but John most have seen _something_ in her. Karkat wants to know what it is.

“Nah,” he says. “You’re probably just a bitch most of the time.”

“Oh.” Vriska doesn’t react to that like he thought she would. She just watches the snow, her eyes reflecting the scant moonlight.

 _Poor girl,_ Karkat thinks, surprising himself. She doesn’t seem as terrible as he’s heard. Maybe there’s something he’s missing, but she just seems sad and dejected, almost pitiable. Karkat finds himself _pitying_ her.

“You should kiss me,” Vriska says.

Karkat blinks. “Fucking _what?_ ”

“You should kiss me. I’m lonely, and it’s cold, and we’re here. And I’m drunk.”

Her logic is so simple that it’s irrefutable. Karkat’s lonely, too, and right now, it doesn’t seem like as bad of an idea as he knows it is. He can’t even think of a single reason to say no.

“You’re stranger than I thought,” he says.

She smiles slowly, her lips parting over her sharp, shiny teeth. “I’ve heard worse.”

Karkat kisses her.

Her lips are cold, but she kisses back languidly, not in any kind of hurry. Her hand moves to his neck, and she sighs into his mouth, and Karkat sort of gathers her up into his arms, all sharp jangling edges and pieces, and holds her together, and she holds him back. And maybe, just maybe, eggnog is not so bad, Maybe Karkat does not _completely_ hate Christmas. Not all of it, at least.


	2. johnvris - snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Johnvris in some au or something vriska's alive and with alpha timeline john and it's wintery and stuff and she's remembering when she was dead and stuff (you know that one scene) and idk man just go with it" - vrlskaserket
> 
> haha i liked this one almost because of how vague it was! it turned out p serious but johnvris is SERIOUS SHIPPING BUSINESS. enjoy! <3

It rarely snows in this world. It’s still an infant universe, underpopulated and developing, but it only snows at seemingly random times and in seemingly random places. The same rules of physics and meteorology from prior worlds and old, dead universes don’t seem to apply.

Vriska doesn’t miss Alternia at all, though. She’s completely free to do what she likes here. _They’re_ finally the ones who get to make the rules. She has no lusus here, and no deadly game to play; but she has her friends, and a universe all to herself to play around in. She is a _goddess._

There’s also the added benefit of being alive again, which is something Vriska accepted gratefully as an endgame boon from the game that had murdered her a thousand times. Being dead was annoying; it was fuzzy and disorienting, and she _hated_ the dream bubbles. Nothing she did there ever mattered. She was irrelevant, useless.

But now she is alive again—they are _all_ alive, and together, and happy. It almost makes the game worth it. After all, without it, would she ever have met the humans?

One of them walks beside her now, breath visible in the chilled air, looking oddly naked without his bright blue godtier outfit. He claims it reminds him of the bad parts of the game: the killing, the bloodshed and the fear, above all else. He doesn’t wear it often; he wants to start over fresh, as they all do. He looks good now, older, a little stubbly and much taller; above all, he looks _normal,_ not traumatized or dead or hopeless. Like this, he looks like an action hero from one of his coveted movies. Vriska’s never imagined herself a damsel in distress, but she could be one for him.

It’s cold, especially in comparison to what Vriska was used to on Alternia, and she shivers. John notices, of course, and he takes off his jacket just as the first snowflake lands on her nose.

“This universe is mocking us,” she says, and frowns up at the gray sky,

He wraps the jacket around her shoulders and smiles gently. “But it’s all different now.”

“True. At least you know my name.”

John brushes the snide remark off and just takes her hand and begins walking. “That doesn’t seem real to me,” he says conversationally. “Did it even happen? Was that really you?”

“It wasn’t real for _you,”_ Vriska says, and rolls her eyes. “It was weird. I sort of remember it, but that day was so confusing—I’d never seen snow before, did you know that? We didn’t have it on Alternia. It was too hot.”

“First time for everything.” John’s smile is eager and bright, and Vriska is overcome with gladness that despite the years and miles that it had taken to get here, everything is alright now, and they’re together for good.

Their matespritship had come easily, natural as breathing. There were no immediate sloppy troll-human makeouts when they met; just a mutual fascination, a careful interest, and then a headlong rush back to the place they’d started two universes away. Vriska had missed him acutely for years without even realizing everything that she had been missing. Now that they’re here and safe and have all the time in the universe, there is no rush. They are letting things happen of their own accord, completely opposite of what the game had forced them to do, and moments like this make everything worth it.

“How did you die?”

John’s voice breaks the silence. The snow is falling heavier now, biting at their skin, and Vriska shivers more violently.

“You never told me,” he continues. “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. But. I just never found out, you know?”

Vriska sighs. A plume of smoke passes from between her lips and stretches toward the gray expanse of the sky, and she watches, fascinated by this new phenomenon. “Terezi,” she says shortly. “I did something I shouldn’t have. Don’t worry about it.”

As if to prove her point, she begins to walk faster, her feet sliding through the snow, chilling her already-coldblooded toes. Her hands are flushing blue. John rushes to catch up, panting his own streams of mist into the air.

“Hey. Wait.” He catches hold of her hand and spins her around, his blue eyes—blue like ice, like winter, like her blood—concerned, worried. “Did I upset you? Vriska?”

“No.”

Vriska turns away, but John takes her face in his hands and holds it there, staring into her eyes. Vriska feels raw, inside and out, as if the wintry air is chafing away her exoskeleton.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s okay.”

“I know,” she says.

His lips are a bright spot of heat against the cold, and Vriska accepts it gratefully, wrapping herself in his arms, warmer than any Alternian sun she had once known. She savors the moment—the sensation, the emotions—and she thanks every deity she can think of that she _is_ okay now.

“Vriska,” he says between kisses, like a chant, like a talisman, like something holy: “Vriska. Vriska.”

She understands. He never wants to forget her again.


	3. eriara - decorations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "aradia tries to put the halloween decorations (particularly the fake corpses) back on the lawn for christmas. shenanigans ensue" - haemospectral
> 
> oh my god i loved this one it was so much fun eeek ((my otp is showing))
> 
> yo also if you want to submit prompts go to aradiada.tumblr.com!!! i am totally open to more prompts!!!

It’s cold when Eridan wakes up. Way too cold, and way too bright.

“Gah,” he mumbles, and flips over, burying his head into the pillow and tugging the duvet closer around him. “Ar, turn off the light, dammit.”

There’s no response. Eridan cautiously pats at the left side of the bed, where Aradia should be. It’s empty and cold to the touch.

“God _damn_ it, Ar,” he groans, and opens his eyes. No wonder it’s so bright—the goddamn headboard is strung with fucking _Christmas lights._

No, wait. Not Christmas lights. They’re pumpkins. The same pumpkin fairy lights they’d taken down barely a month ago.

“Christ, _no,_ ” breathes Eridan, and sits up, scrambling for his glasses. The curtains are pulled closed, but he flings them open and presses his nose to the frosted glass.

The lawn is covered in snow that once would have been gorgeous and pristine, but now is marred with crisscrossing footprints and piles that look suspiciously like sticks. By the mailbox stands a small figure bundled in red, chestnut hair flaked with white, holding a styrofoam gravestone. A _gravestone?_  For God’s sake.

Eridan bursts out of bed and pulls on his parka over his t-shirt, rubbing sleep from his eyes blearily, and dashes for the front door. When he pulls it open, a blast of cold hits him in the face like a hammer, nearly sending him sprawling back into the warmth of the entryway, but he’s braved the cold before. He hasn’t lived in New England for his whole life for fucking nothing.

Aradia must have gotten up at like five a.m. to get all these decorations out. She looks like she’s in her element, grinning happily while distributing ornaments they’d got from the dollar store around the yard. The only issue is that these particular ornaments are not Christmas ornaments—not the candy-cane snow poles or the inflatable snowman or the yards upon yards of brilliant lights to string around the porch railing—but a scattering of fake bones. The snowy lawn is _covered_ in rubberized corpses, weathered headstones, and grinning electric jack-o-lanterns. Eridan knew his girlfriend loved Halloween, but _this—_

“Hi!” Aradia catches sight of him and waves gaily, her eyes sparkling. She bends down and magnanimously places a Santa hat atop the head of one of the gruesome corpses.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Eridan says. “Ar, what are you doin’?”

“Decorating for Christmas!” she says brightly. She straightens up and brushes the snow from her gloves, then runs over to plant a kiss on his cheek. “What are you doing up so early?”

“It’s _December,_ ” Eridan says carefully through gritted teeth. “There is _snow_ on the ground.”

“I know,” she says, ridiculously flippant.

He sighs, letting his breath hiss out between his teeth. “Ar,” he continues. “There are fake bodies on the lawn.”

“Aren’t they nice? I think they look really good against the snow—“

“No, they don’t look _nice_! God! They’re _corpses,_ Ar, what is this, George Romero’s Christmas gone wrong?”

“I like zombies, I thought we could change it up a bit—“

“They are _Halloween decorations_! For God’s sake! What happened to the wreath, an’ the candy canes, an’ the _normal_ lights we just bought last fuckin’ weekend? Why can’t you decorate like a _normal person?”_

Aradia falls silent. Her eyes grow large and sad; her bottom lip juts out a little in a very convincing pout. She sniffles.

“Oh, for cryin’ out loud,” mutters Eridan, and pulls her into his arms. She presses her face against his chest.

He knows she wasn’t really going to cry, but dammit, her puppy-dog face is _good._ He can’t stand to see his girlfriend sad for even a second. Even if she does pull ridiculous, crazy stunts like this way too often, and way too close to the holidays, and wherever the neighbors can see them. Even then, she’s adorably insufferable.

“C’mon,” he says. “Come inside. I’ll make pancakes and hot chocolate, okay? Let’s have breakfast, it’s too early to be outside. Come warm up before you die of frostbite.”

Aradia acquiesces with an easy smile and pulls away, her face now clear of any hint of sadness. “Sounds good,” she says, and takes his hand in one of her gloves.

“Good.” He grins and begins to lead her back in.

“We can leave the skeletons, though, right? Just one?”

He sighs begrudgingly, but Aradia sticks her bottom lip out again, and Eridan just about _melts_ , despite the sub-zero temperature. “Just one,” he concedes.

Aradia’s ensuing smile is like summer, warm enough to heat his chilled hands on. “I love you,” she says.

“You’re insane,” he says, and leads her back into the house, holding her hand tightly every step of the way.


	4. vriskat - hive visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Vriska forgot her winter coat at home and was walking with Karkat in the snow to run some errands. The snow started to fall ferociously and Karkat suggests that they return to his hive nearby." -armaboredom
> 
> oh this one was so nice! i always forget how nice vriskat can be when they're not being total bitches to each other <3 had fun with alternian holiday customs too. (i really hope grubsauce is drinkable haha)

There’s a good reason that Vriska seldom leaves her lawnring. She doesn’t particularly like the rest of Alternia. It’s okay when she’s playing FLARP and she can influence the conditions; she likes it during the warmer season sometimes, when the nights are hot on her coldblooded blue skin. But the colder season is terrible. She’s never even liked Twelfth Perigee’s; it’s not like Spidermom can find a goddamn behemoth leaving for her, much less bring it into the hive and fucking decorate it. Holidays are lonely in the Serket castle; so much so, in fact, that Vriska’s almost forgotten they exist.

And so it happens that she has been caught unawares, stuck outside in the middle of a completely deserted lowblood market while a fucking _snowstorm_ rages overhead all because she didn’t realize it was Perigee’s Eve.

“ _Damn!”_ Vriska mutters, and shivers, pulling her thin jacket closer around her. It’s not even her good winter one; she’s going to _freeze_ out here, her cobalt blood turning to ice in her veins. “Damndamndamndamndamndamndamndamn.”

It’s nearly two hours’ walk back to her hive. All she needed was a fucking cataclysm transistor for her stupid-ass kismesis’s latest stupid-ass doomsday device! But could she get it? _No,_ because Vriska Serket has none of the luck. _None_ of it.

“Fuck Twelfth Perigee’s, fuck it so hard,” she mutters, and kicks at a snowdrift with the toe of her shoe. Maybe she can curl up in it and fall asleep for the day. Maybe the snow will block out the sunlight. It’s not like anyone around here will help her, anyway; the only person she knows is Aradia, and her lawnring is far out nowhere, and she wouldn’t be wandering around on Perigee’s Eve like a huge idiot, and besides, Vriska kind of hates her.

She shivers harder and resigns herself to the cruel fate of becoming a Serketcicle, just another sacrifice to Alternia’s ever-changing weather, albeit a very young and pretty one.

“Hey. What are you doing here?”

Vriska looks up and momentarily pulls herself out of her self-absorbed misery.

On the other side of the deserted market square, a diminutive, dark figure cuts a path through the gleaming snow. It’s bundled in sweaters and slouching, hands in its’ pockets.

“Who are you?” Vriska calls out. “Hello?”

“What are you _doing_ here, bulgelicker?” the person—a boy, she figures—calls again rudely. “Aren’t you a highblood? Hey, newsflash: we don’t want any blueballed nooksuckers fucking up our holiday.”

“I’m _not,_ ” Vriska calls desperately. “I swear. I’m just cold, okay?” She shivers violently as if to prove it. “I just need a place to stay for the day,” she continues, aware how desperately plaintive she is. She hates begging for things, but this may well be a matter of life or death.

The figure comes even closer. He’s got the shortest horns Vriska has ever seen.

She squints. “Hey, I know you. Aren’t you Karkat Vantas?”

“Why do you care?” He steps right into her personal space, and Vriska has to suppress a laugh. She’s a full head taller than he is. It’s almost cute, really, how pathetic his attempt to intimidate her is.

“Kaaaaaaaarkat,” she says, rolling out the _e_ elegantly, letting it drip off her tongue. “You wouldn’t mind some company for Perigee’s Eve, would you? C’mon, consider it your act of kindness for the holidays. I’m sure Troll Santa would be proud.”

“Do you really believe in Troll Santa?”

She huffs impatiently. There are goosebumps rising on her arms; she is about to fall down shivering. “ _Please,_ ” she says.

Karkat rolls his eyes and takes off one of his coats.

“ _Thaaaaaaaank_ you, Karkat,” says Vriska, and wraps it around herself. “Really. Thank you from the bottom of my freezing little heart.”

“Whatever,” Karkat says gruffly. “Follow me. You look half-dead, dunkass.”

Karkat’s hive is mercifully very close to the market. His lawnring is dusted in snow; the gray spires of his hive are covered in the stuff. He turns to face her on the doorstep. His gray eyes are serious and winter-cold. “Don’t ask anything, okay?” he says. “I’m doing you a favor. Don’t forget that. Don’t you dare ask any fucking questions about my life or anything.”

“You’re weird, Karkat,” Vriska responds.

The inside of his hive is dirty, but it is so warm that Vriska doesn’t even care. She rushes in, shedding Karkat’s coat, and nearly runs over to the fire already crackling merrily in the fireplace, pressing her fingers to the metal grate. She sighs, closing her eyes.

“I’ll get something to drink, I guess,” Karkat mutters. “My lusus is around here somewhere. Don’t be mean to him, he’ll attack you, and I’m kicking your sorry ass out if you hurt my lusus the night before Twelfth Perigee’s.”

“Swear on my eighth eye,” Vriska says solemnly. Karkat nods once and disappears.

While he’s gone, Vriska takes the time to take stock of the room. The center of his hive is large and open; the fire casts a warm orange glow over the room. There’s a massive leaving in one corner, decked out to high hell in tinsel and berries and worn, dented ornaments; over the fireplace hangs a solitary foot wrapping, threadbare and about to fall apart. It’s all very charming in a rustic way. Vriska’s not used to places like this; her hive is echoingly empty, and barely warmer than the air outside.

Curiously, she touches one edge of the foot wrapping, fascinated by the rich crimson hues decorating it. The stitching is intricate; she wonders if one of their friends made it for Karkat, or if his lusus had bought it for him, and suddenly she’s swept full of longing for a warm home, a fire in the hearth, a leaving in the corner and the smell of warm grubloaf in the air. Maybe something is wrong with her after missing Twelfth Perigee’s all these years.

There’s a loud footstep, and she turns around guiltily, letting the foot wrapping drop. Karkat is carrying two steaming mugs of hot grubsauce. Behind him, his lusus, a snowy white crab, scuttles along merrily, clacking at Vriska in greeting.

“Crabdad,” Karkat says as way of greeting. He holds out one of the mugs. “Here, drink up. You’re probably cold, yeah?”

“Thanks,” Vriska says. She tries out a tentative smile on Karkat. He doesn’t return it, exactly, but he also doesn’t swear at her. Instead, he sits down on the couch and pats the spot next to him.

“So, what are you doing all the way out here? Isn’t your hive way out east with Zahhak’s?” he asks.

Vriska takes a sip from her mug. The grubsauce is so hot that it burns her tongue. It’s laced with something very sweet. “I needed something from the market,” she says carefully. “For a Twelfth Perigee’s gift for my kismesis.”

“Left it a little late, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, guess so.”

“Who even has a kismesis at this age?” Karkat wraps both his hands around his mug. Vriska watches them, fascinated by the curiously red tint staining his fingertips underneath the skin.

“It’s complicated,” she says. “I don’t even like him that much anymore, really. It used to be good. Now he’s just kind of weak.”

Karkat tuts sympathetically, and Vriska remembers that this is the guy obsessed with romantic entanglements and drama. Jegus, she’s an idiot.

“We’re fine, though,” she says hastily. “No meddling needed. Especially no auspistices.”

“I wasn’t offering, fuckass.”

“Well. Okay, good.”

“Okay.”

The grubsauce is cooling quickly. Vriska gulps it down, trying to salvage some of the warmth.

“You know, it’s kind of nice having someone over on Perigee’s Eve,” he says conversationally a moment later. “Kanaya usually comes, but the weather was too bad for her this year. It’s hailing out in the desert.”

“Oh.” Vriska should have known that. Kanaya’s supposed to be her moirail, isn’t she? God, she’s fucking everything up.

“Do you and Zahhak hang out on holidays? He’s a weird guy, but at least you’ve got a friend nearby, yeah?”

“Not really,” she says. She puts her empty mug on the coffee table and twists her fingers in her lap. “I don’t really do Perigee’s that much. My lusus—she’s not the best with holidays.”

She isn’t going to look at Karkat. He’s going to laugh at her, and then she’ll probably punch him, and he’ll throw her out into the cold and she’ll be back to square one. It had been going so well, too.

“I’m sorry.”

Vriska does look up. Karkat’s face isn’t amused; it’s legitimately regretful. For _her._

“It’s okay,” Vriska says. “I like it here. I like your hive.” For all of its’ clutter, it does have its’ charms.

Karkat turns on the TV, and they watch _A Perigee’s Story_ together. His lusus retreats up to some recess of his hive, and Vriska’s eyelids begin to feel heavy.

“I’m tired,” she slurs. “Gonna…lay down.”

“Yeah,” Karkat says absentmindedly, his eyes still locked on the screen. “Go ahead.”

She’s not sure why she puts her head in Karkat’s lap. She’s not sure why she doesn’t just ask for a spare recuperacoon; it’s not like she can get any real rest this way. But _damn,_ Karkat is hot. His skin is burning through his thick pants; she can feel it on her cheek.

A moment later, his hand hesitantly sweeps hair from her forehead, and she coos encouragingly. “This is good,” she says, lethargic. “I like you, Karkat. Thank you.”

Her eyes are half-shut; above her, Karkat’s face is fuzzy and getting closer. She doesn’t realize what’s happening till he presses his lips to her exposed cheek. When he pulls away, she swears she can still feel the imprint, like a ring of fire on her skin.

“Happy Twelfth Perigee’s,” he says, and Vriska dreams peacefully.


	5. vriskat - mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "vriska does the mistletoe thing and whoops he likes and and wow it escalates." - anonymous   
> eeeek this one was so much funnnn

“I think it is a human thing,” Kanaya says, peering up at the sprig of green plant matter. “Something to do with their human holiday of Christmas.”

“Christmas?”

Vriska has to stand on the very tips of her red converse to get a better look at the bundle of leaves. They’re spiky and green, joined in the center by a small patch of shiny red berries. “What kind of name for a holiday is _Christmas?_ And what does this weird little plant have to do with it?”

“It’s called mistletoe. I believe it is customarily used in mating rituals.”

She makes a face and steps back. “ _Ewwwwwwww._ That’s so strange. What do you mean?”

Kanaya sighs and reaches up to pat her hair. Her cheeks are flushed slightly green. “To my understanding, it is typically used as an excuse to kiss other people, if they both happen to be standing underneath it at the same time.”

“Huh.” Vriska looks up at the plant again. It shines back at her merrily, the little berries winking in the dimly fluorescent meteor light. “How did you know that?”

Kanaya’s cheeks turn as green as the mistletoe above her head.

“Oh. Of course.” Vriska rolls her eyes. “You two are insufferable.” Rose probably put it there, in fact, hoping to catch Kanaya under it. As if they even needed an excuse to make out. Or maybe it was Dave, doing it for his mysterious “ironic purposes.” (Vriska will never admit it, but she finds them kind of funny.) Maybe it was even Terezi, who found it on the inter-universe internet and wanted to make everyone uncomfortable. Vriska approves—she’s sure that whoever thought of it, it will result in plenty of hilarious shenanigans.

She, of course, did not plan to ever get caught unawares underneath it. Not her. She is too smart for that.

Dave and Rose have both tried explaining Christmas to all of the trolls in hopes of preserving their dead culture. It sounds nice, maybe even nicer than Twelfth Perigee’s; Kanaya was fascinated, as she is with all aspects of human culture, and Terezi got a huge kick out of the old, fat man they call Santa Claus. Humans are so strange.

Even Karkat’s getting into it. The past few days, he’s been wandering around the meteor in a hideous red and green sweater that Rose knitted for him. When asked, he says it’s only because it’s so warm. Vriska thinks otherwise—Karkat’s always been a sucker for happy holidays, the sap.

Then comes the actual day of the holiday; Vriska’s lost track of dates, but Kanaya’s apparently been meticulously chronicling daily events since their departure. Rose throws a massive party in the common room—or at least, as massive as a party for the only seven people on the meteor can be. Vriska leaves early. Gamzee brought out the sopor, and she is _not_ touching that stuff again.

She pauses in the corridor, staring at one of the shitty Christmas trees Dave had alchemized as decoration. It is unbelievably terrible. Vriska is incredulous.

“Why the hell would you want to look at that thing?”

“Shut up, Karkat,” Vriska says. He still hasn’t taken that ridiculous sweater off. God, he’s ridiculous.

He runs a hand through his hair and walks closer, the lights from the shitty tree throwing psychedelic colors all over his face. “I don’t understand this fucking holiday,” he says.

Vriska shakes her head. “No one does. Humans are strange.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Don’t go back to the party. Rose alchemized some strange egg drink and now Terezi and Dave are smashed.”

“Ugh.” Vriska shudders. “I hate this meteor.”

“Hm.”

She looks over at Karkat again. He’s staring at a point just above her head, his eyes slightly wider than normal.

“ _Whaaaaaaaat,_ shouty? See a spider or something?”

There’s a rush of footsteps in the corridor, and a moment later, the small passage fills with a horde of giggling, drunk, overly festive teenagers, who stop dead and fall silent at the sight of Karkat and Vriska.

“Dude,” Dave says reverently, and points to the place Karkat was staring. Then he proceeds to nearly bust a globe laughing.

Vriska looks up. “What?”

Over their heads is a small, perfectly green sprig of mistletoe.

Karkat backs away, his hands held up in defense. “Oh, no. No, no, not on the last sad bulge-fondling bit of my pathetic fucking life—“

“Come ooooon, Karkles,” Terezi laughs. “It’s _tradition!_ ”

Vriska smirks. Karkat is turning very red. It’s so funny when he blushes.

“You gotta do it, buddy,” Dave adds. “You gotta kiss her. C’mon. Hope she doesn’t bite.”

“Fuck all of you, I hope you all fall off this shitty death trap and die—“

Terezi gives him a hearty shove, and he goes flying straight into Vriska’s arms. She leans down and presses her lips to his before he can say anything else.

Karkat resists the whole time, but for such a shouty little bitch, he is not that strong. He struggles, but Vriska holds fast, and after a while he relaxes, his mouth beginning to move a little against hers’. Surprisingly, he is not a bad kisser—much better than Tavros or Eridan, at least. Not as sloppy and not as stiff. Vriska is impressed.

When he pulls away, his cheeks are flaming red, and everyone is cheering, even Kanaya. Vriska bows. Karkat swears some more and absconds.

It’s not hard to find him, though. When everyone else had gone back to their stupid party and Vriska was alone again, she made her way down to his respiteblock. The door was not locked.

She pokes her head in. Karkat is sitting next to his recuperacoon, his arms crossed, looking grouchy...and something else, something that Vriska can’t put her finger on.

“Shouty,” she calls, and he looks up and immediately starts blushing again.

“Go _away,_ bulgesucker.”

She takes a step into the room. “You’re a good kisser.”

“We are _not_ talking about this. Not _ever again._ It _never happened._ ”

Wow, he is really, _really,_ red. Vriska stands over him, hands on her hips, legs spread. “You liked it.”

“ _Vriska._ ”

“You did. Admit it.”

“ _Vriska for god’s sake—_ “

She bends down and kisses him again, square on the lips, and he does react just like she knew he would. He pushes up into her mouth, almost desperate, his lips moving quickly alongside hers, and he groans quietly enough that she can barely hear it.

“That’s what I thought,” she whispers against his mouth.

She pulls him up—not very gently—and shoves her hands under the hem of that _stupid_ sweater, running her fingers over the warm skin, and Karkat moans some more and Vriska is actually getting turned on by this. It’s not a game anymore; she doesn’t have anything to prove. She doesn’t even know what quadrant to classify it as. Fuck it, she doesn’t even care.

They break apart long enough for Vriska to tug that horrible sweater over his head and fling it somewhere where neither of them will ever see it again, and then she pushes back into him, demanding, and he gives as good as he takes, and Vriska smiles into his mouth sharply. She always wins.


	6. karnaya - family shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "how about Karkat and his mommy, Kanaya, go gift shopping at the mall?" -allthingsimmature  
> aww this one was really sweet! i feel like karkat/kanaya family dynamics (or even karkan in general) doesn't get the recognition it deserves. thank you!  
> as always, prompts are welcome at aradiada.tumblr.com/ask

Kanaya always thought Black Friday was a very accurate name for the holiday. It tends to bring out the blackest in many people—the mindless consumerism, the utter disregard for the feelings of others, the purely selfish attitude pervading a day that directly followed one given to ‘thanks.’ But at the same time, she can’t deny that the Christmas attitude it brings with it is a source of joy. She’s always loved the holiday, despite its’ lack of sunshine and warmth. And an added bonus—it gives her quality time with her son, something that cannot be underappreciated.

It’s been somewhat hard over the years, raising a son all by herself while maintaining a professional life and her own company as well, but Kanaya doesn’t regret adopting him or a single second thereafter. Karkat is her world. Recently, it’s been even harder—he’s growing up now, and becoming a (rather obstreperous) teenager, which is a source of contention in their once-harmonious relationship. Kanaya sometimes loses her temper. But just as they’ve made it through the years preceding this, they will do so through the ones after, as well.

“Mom,” Karkat groans. His arms are crossed and his brow is furrowed. Kanaya desperately misses the days when he would cling to her hand so they wouldn’t get separated in the heavy crowds. “Why do we have to go out _today?_ I could be _sleeping._ ”

“Hush,” she replies. “It’s tradition.” Karkat furrows his brow and crosses his arms.

Overnight, the mall has transformed from a regular shopping center into a winter wonderland. Drifts of cottonball snow fill the corners, towering trees fill the echoing space with the scent of pine, and every banister and railing is draped in tinsel and bright lights.  Kanaya knows it’s only a commercial ploy, but still, the sight of Christmas decorations always fills her with a strange and wondrous sense of magic. It’s seemed to work for her son, as well—he looks a little less grumpy than before. He can never stay angry inside such a joyous atmosphere, and Kanaya knows it.

“Where would you like to go?” she asks gently. “You can pick anything you want. It’s Christmas, you deserve it.”

This statement is important, and Karkat can tell. They don’t have very much spare money for extravagant gifts; Kanaya’s design company, while relatively successful, is still in its’ fledgling stages. Offers like this are not common.

“Okay,” he says, eyes wide. “Wow. Thanks, mom.”

Kanaya smiles fondly and takes his hand, letting him lead her farther into the mall.

He doesn’t ask for much. Karkat’s an intelligent child; he’s seen worry lines form around Kanaya’s eyes when she talks about money and budgeting. He comes out with a couple of new movies, some music, a game he’s ecstatic to have and won’t stop talking about, and a huge smile. Kanaya’s heart swells, glad she’s been able to lift her son out of his adolescent melancholy for even a short time.

They’re passing by one of Kanaya’s favorite stores on their way to Starbucks when Karkat pulls up short. “Wait, mom,” he says, and wrenches his hand out of hers’. “I gotta go in. Wait here.”

“Karkat?” Kanaya calls, confused, but Karkat disappears into the brightly colored store.

How strange. She sits down on a bench, letting her bags spill around her, and leans back.

“Shopping is a tiring business, isn’t it?”

Kanaya looks up. A gorgeous woman, pale as snow, is standing in front of her, wearing a wry smile and a purple sweater.

“Yes,” Kanaya says. “It is rather exhausting.”

“Consumerism these days is terribly aggressive.”

The woman sits down next to her on the bench, crossing her legs and folding her hands primly in her lap. Kanaya sneaks glances at her out of the corner of her eye.

“And yet,” she sighs. “We continue to comply with corporations’ relentless campaign of cheer. Even I am susceptible.”

“Such is the bane of the first world,” Kanaya commiserates.

The woman smiles, her wine-dark lips splitting open to reveal white teeth. “My name is Rose.”

“Kanaya.”

“Charmed.”

Kanaya’s heart skips a beat.

“Mom!” Karkat comes running out of the store, his face red with exertion and triumph. He clutches a small bag in one hand. “Look!” He thrusts it at her and smiles eagerly. “I got you a Christmas present!”

Kanaya glances up at Rose. She’s smiling knowingly, seemingly amused by Karkat. Karkat, in turn, finally notices her. “Oh,” he says. “Sorry for interrupting.”

“It’s alright,” Kanaya says. “Do you want me to open it, Karkat?”

He nods, overly excited.

“Alright.” Carefully, Kanaya digs through the mountain of tissue paper until she finds the smooth box at the bottom. Karkat watches with anxious eyes; Rose remains next to her, a dark, silent presence.

Kanaya cracks the box open. Inside, on the dark fabric, lies an elegant necklace, inlaid with deep green jade.

“Karkat!” she gasps. “How much did this cost you?”

Karkat looks down and scuffs at the floor with his toe. “It’s a present. I saved up for it.”

“It’s beautiful.” She strokes a finger over the cool metal. “Thank you.”

She holds her arms open, and Karkat runs into them. Kanaya hears Rose laugh, and she smiles into her son’s hair, infinitely glad that it’s Christmas.


	7. vriskat - first christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How do Karkat and Vriska spend their 1st Christmas together???" -anonymous  
> spoiler alert: exactly how you expect they would.   
> (i have this huge boner for new york in winter, it's the setting of like 50% of my stories, i'm sorry for anyone who's never been uvu)

“Fuck, man,” Dave says, and spews Dorito crumbs across the room.

Karkat sighs. “I know.”

“I mean, Christmas is in _three days,_ and you _still_ don’t know what you’re doing with your girlfriend.”

“I _know,_ fucknut.”

“You’re fucked, my bro.”

“Shut the fuck up, Dave.”

“Maybe you could go home to your parents,” suggests his other roommate, John. “I’m sure your dad wants to meet her.”

“Are you crazy? And let her near Kankri?”

Dave stands up, dislodging a mountain of Dorito dust. “Well, you’re on your own,” he announces. “I gotta go get Jade, our flight is in three hours. Good luck, hope your girl doesn’t kill you.”

“Merry fucking Christmas to you too,” grumbles Karkat.

John looks more sympathetic to his plight. “I’d take you guys with me if I could,” he says. “But I think Jane and Nanna would kill me if I brought anyone else home with me—we really don’t have room for any more people.”

Karkat sighs. “S’okay. She probably wouldn’t want to spend her holiday break in Buttfuck, Washington, anyway.”

“Well, you’ll have the apartment to yourself.” John winks. “Make good use of it, yeah?”

“Hope so,” Karkat mumbles.

By the time Christmas Eve rolls around, Karkat is lonely, drunk, miserable, and wondering why he is such a stupid fucking boyfriend.

This is exactly what is _not_ supposed to be happening now that he finally has a girlfriend—not to mention an exciting, sexy, adventurous girlfriend like his. He is not supposed to be alone this holiday. Even his terrible celibate brother is at home with his dad and his sexually enlightened feminist girlfriend and not alone in the middle of New York fucking City.

He should call her. He knows he should. But it’s too late—she’s probably pissed off to hell now, and he’s fucked up the whole thing. Karkat hopes she doesn’t like Christmas _too_ much.

There’s a banging on the front door, and he stands slowly, joints creaking. “Okay, fuckin’ coming,” he calls, and scrambles for a shirt until he realizes there’s none in the vicinity, decides he looks sloppy as hell anyway and a shirt isn’t going to do jack shit, and chooses to forgo it.

When he opens the door, he wishes he’d taken the time to find one.

Vriska runs her eyes over him slowly, her gaze catching on his mussed hair and bare chest and rumpled pajama pants, and drawls “Kaaaaaaaarkat, you are a sad excuse for a boyfriend.”

“Uh.” Karkat scratches at his head. “Come in?”

“We’re going out. Put on something warm.” Vriska pushes past him, unspooling her scarf from around her neck, and sits down on his couch. “What the fuck are you watching?”

“Syfy,” Karkat mumbles.

Her laugh is sharp and cutting. “You’re such a loser.”

Sometimes, when she gets like this, she acts mean enough that Karkat almost believes her. Instead of picking a fight, he retreats into the dark, messy jumble of his bedroom and digs out a sweater.

Vriska has taken his beer and is flipping through the channels when he returns. When she sees him, she knocks back the rest of the bottle and stands. “You’re taking me out,” she says. “I’ve decided because you didn’t.”

“Okay,” says Karkat.

The city’s bustling with people. The dark sidewalks are full of all manner of people, from the very young to the very old, all happy and laughing and decked out in red and green. Karkat takes Vriska’s hand. She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t pull away.

“Where am I taking you?” he asks.

Vriska purses her lips and thinks, and then says “We’re going to see the tree.”

He laughs. “And you had the nerve to call _me_ a sucker for the holidays.”

“Shut up.” Vriska punches Karkat in the arm. “It’s better than anything you came up with.”

“I could’ve thought of—“

“Yeah, but you didn’t.”

Karkat rolls his eyes and lets her take the lead.

As they get closer to Rockefeller Center, the crowd increases exponentially. It gets louder and more aggressive, and Karkat has to fight to keep hold of Vriska’s hand. As usual, she isn’t fazed; her sharp elbows do enough damage in a crowd on their own.

“Why did you make us come _here?_ ” he shouts over the roar of the masses.

She looks back over her shoulder at him, and her icy cobalt eyes catch the light like mirrors, reflecting the Christmas lights back so that her irises glitter like stars. She throws her head back and laughs, and Karkat is suddenly filled with that fleeting warmth that only comes occasionally when he looks at her, but is strong enough to make him dizzy and lightheaded and wonder how he ended up where he did, hand-in-hand with the most dangerous and incredible girl he’s ever met. For all her faults, her bitchy attitude and sarcasm and guardedness, he feels lucky to have her.

Vriska grins the devious grin Karkat’s come to know so well. “Hold on tight.”

 She forges ahead through the crowd mercilessly, and all Karkat can do is grip her hand and pray they don’t get separated in  the crush. Vriska’s lived in the city all her life; between that and her fearless demeanor, she’s an absolute menace in any crowd. Karkat usually tries his hardest to stay out of all the fights she starts.

It works, though. In a matter of minutes, they’re craning their necks to try and see the top of the massive tree. It’s the biggest Christmas tree Karkat’s ever seen in his life; the whole thing is covered, top to bottom, in enough lights to power a whole town. All around them, people are gasping and exclaiming, taking pictures and kissing. The same look is repeated over and over on every face: complete awe. The tree _is_ pretty impressive. He guesses.

He stares at it a minute longer, until the lights blur together into one bright mass in front of his eyes, and then says “this is overrated.”

Vriska nods. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

The minute they stumble back into the apartment, Vriska is on him, tearing at his coat and scarf with greedy fingers. Her mouth is sloppy, and she misses his lips a couple times; but he isn’t complaining. She fights her way out of her jacket and sweater and shoves at his shoulders, pushing him back towards the bedroom.

“You’re a shitty boyfriend,” she says.

“I know,” gasps Karkat.

“Whatever. This is all I really wanted to do anyway.”

“Not complaining.”

Vriska smiles, sharp and bright in the darkness. “Merry Christmas, idiot.”


	8. vriskat - mistletoe take two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Vriska LOVES Christmas but Karkat doesn't she wants him to get into the mood and maybe some mistletoe will help." -anonymous  
> i frickin love mistletoe ok it is the best christmas trope hands down

The thing that Karkat hates the most about Christmas is the music.

Literally _every single day_ since the calendar flipped over to December, his girlfriend has been blaring the shittiest, whiniest holiday music at all fucking hours. When he politely screams at her to shut it off, she just turns it up louder. She brought a Christmas tree, too, and made him help her decorate it—Karkat sneezed the whole time; he _hates_ the smell of pine—and she keeps fucking _baking_ all the time. She’s not even good at it, and she knows it, but Karkat has to choke down her burnt balls of sugar and cinnamon because that’s what a supportive boyfriend does, isn’t it? He supports her through all her misguided Christmassy endeavors.

Still, he doesn’t understand why Vriska has this sudden, all-consuming obsession with the holiday. It’s as if the minute Thanksgiving ended, a switch flipped in her brain, and now she’s in winter holiday overdrive. She’s even _singing._ Karkat can’t deny she’s got a pretty good voice—but still, when  he’s lived with a die-hard bitch for nine months and then he wakes up one day to hear her singing _Silver Bells_ at the top of her lungs while she hangs up wreaths, he’s bound to get whiplash.

Karkat doesn’t even _like_ Christmas that much.

He tolerates all of it. He really does. He puts up with the tree in their living room, and the smell of burning cookies, and the insane amounts of lights draping the porch, and even the horrible music. But the final straw comes the day he wakes up and Vriska’s talking to John on the phone.

“You should _tooooooootally_ come by later,” she’s purring into the phone while Karkat rubs blearily at his eyes. “It’s going to be so much fun, John, and it’ll be so good to see you again.”

 _John? Her_ ex-boyfriend, _John?_

Karkat sits up quickly, “Vris, who are you talking to?”

Vriska spins around. “Gotta go,” she says into the phone. “See you later.”

“John?” Karkat says stupidly.

Vriska sighs a long-suffering sigh that mean’s she’s about to drop a bombshell. “Karkat,” she says, “we are having a party.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“A Christmas party,” she says. “Tomorrow. Because I want to.”

Karkat shakes his head, dumbfounded. The only thing he can think to say is “You invited John?”

“He’s my friend,” she replies primly. “Get up, you’re going to help me decorate.”

It’s purely jealousy and rivalry that drives Karkat to actually follow through, but follow through he does. He does whatever Vriska tells him to—grumbling and cursing Christmas all the way—until she stops him in the middle of twisting tinsel around the stair banisters.

“Why do you hate Christmas?” she asks.

Karkat looks up, surprised. “I don’t,” he says automatically, a knee-jerk reaction.

“Well, you act like you do.” Vriska sits down on the stairs with a thump, staring plaintively up at him. “You’ve been in a really bad mood recently, and it’s starting to get on my nerves, Karkat. What’s your issue?”

“I just don’t really care,” says Karkat. “I didn’t know you cared so much.”

“It’s my favorite holiday,” she says softly, almost to herself.

“Oh.” Karkat feels like a douche now. “I—sorry, Vris.”

“You don’t like it at all?”

He drops the strand of tinsel and sits down. “It’s not that,” he says. “I just never really had a reason to care, you know? It’s just a day.”

“I can _make_ you care.”

Karkat raises an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”

“If you want it to be,” Vriska says, and fishes something out of her pocket. She holds it above her head so Karkat has to crane his neck to see what it is.

“ _Mistletoe?_ ”

“There are some things even _you_ have to like about Christmas,” she says playfully.

Karkat grins. “God, you’re devious.”

Before Vriska gets a chance to answer, he presses his lips to hers’, curling one hand around her neck. She responds even more eagerly than he expected, her hands roaming over his chest. She drops the mistletoe. It falls on Karkat’s head, and he grins.

“Maybe,” he says, “Christmas isn’t that bad after all.”


	9. gamvris - secret santa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Gamzee and Vriska go to a secret Santa party and get each other and maybe have some drinks" -anonymous  
> yeahhh gamvris <333 it was surprisingly difficult trying to think what they'd buy each other, and then i remembered that we are talking about gamzee and vriska, and of course they would go for the most wildly inappropriate things possible. duh.

There’s one day of the year when Vriska can tolerate all of her weird friends, and it’s the day of John Egbert’s annual Secret Santa party.

Normally, she’s fighting with at least three of them at any given time, but on this one day every year, she stops arguing with Aradia, stops teasing Tavros, stops taunting Terezi and mocking Eridan. She can put up with everyone for one day—she owes it to them.

In return, she gets one day of total calm and happiness, where she actually understands what Christmas is supposed to mean and gets to hang out with people as if they’re actually _people._ Plus, the gift exchange is always fun—between the aggressive campaigns to find out who everyone has without revealing their own giftee, to the hilarious and usually teasingly ironic gifts traded between her friends, Vriska absolutely adores John’s party. Plus, his sister makes cookies for them. His sister is a cookie _goddess._

This year was a little more difficult than most. Vriska nearly broke down and asked Karkat for advice on what to buy more than once; but she held strong, and it’ll pay off. She is uptight about this shit. _Nobody_ is going to crack the great Vriska Serket and get her to tell. Even Terezi, who is practically bouncing with excitement in Kanaya’s backseat, her gaudily wrapped gift clutched in her lap.

“Why won’t you tell me?” she asks Vriska insistently. “Come _on,_ we’re nearly there anyway, it doesn’t even matter now!”

“Terezi, you are going to break the shocks on my car,” Kanaya says. She pulls deftly into John’s crowded, snowy driveway, and Vriska is suddenly filled with excitement. “Get out before my backseat bursts.”

Terezi scrambles out of the car. Kanaya adjusts her scarf and reaches down to pick up her own present—neatly wrapped as always; she is nothing if not tidy and precise.

Vriska looks down at her own package with trepidation. It’s small compared to theirs; it’s half a joke, and half an actual attempt to get something he’d like. This year, she knows almost nothing about her giftee; she was shooting in the (somewhat illegal) dark when she bought her present. She hopes he likes it anyway.

“Okay,” she says, and holds the present carefully, not wanting to crack the fragile glass inside. “Let’s go.”

John’s house is warm and filled with the smell of cinnamon and cookies. Everyone is lounging around the living room, crammed into couches or stretched out on the floor; a fire is roaring in the fireplace, and a massive Christmas tree stands in the corner. The coffee table is piled with stacks of cookies. It feels like home.

“Hey,” Vriska says, and shakes the snow off her coat before giving John a quick hug. “Sorry we’re late.”

“It’s okay!” John smiles, huge and bucktoothed and bright. “We’re just about to start. Sit down, guys!”

The first one to pass their present around the circle is Aradia, who gives a large package to Terezi. She opens it, cackling when she finds a massive bag of candy and a box of colored pencils; she then proceeds to take them out one by one and sniff them, claiming to smell the colors. Everyone rolls their eyes and laughs tolerantly. Then Terezi gives her present to Sollux, which is a book entitled “Computer Coding for Dummies,” which makes him spit his cookie at Terezi from annoyance and laughing; underneath is a pair of colorful touch-screen gloves. Sollux passes Dave a CD, which turns out to be a music mixing program he stole off the Internet that normally would have cost thousands of dollars; Dave is fervent with excitement.

Dave gets Eridan a pile of about seven cheap scarves, which he says are “ironically hipster,” and Eridan happily wraps them all around his neck at once. Then Eridan, looking slightly nervous, passes his present to Aradia; when she carefully opens the shiny paper, she finds a mixtape he made for her and an elegant necklace with a red stone in the center that Vriska has a hard time believing Eridan picked out himself. She smiles shyly at Eridan and asks him to help clasp it around her neck; everyone aws.

Equius gets Feferi a beta fish; Feferi gets Rose a fancy writing journal; Rose knits Nepeta a scarf; and it continues around the circle. Vriska avoids eye contact with the recipient of her gift while everyone else trades. He’s lounging on the couch next to Karkat, gangly limbs spread everywhere, a messy package wrapped in purple paper sitting on his lap; he doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to the proceedings.

The presents dwindle down, and neither of them trade; Tavros gives Jade seeds for her garden, Jade gives Kanaya a few bolts of fabric to sew with, Kanaya gives Karkat a hand-tailored peacoat. And then John passes his gift around to Equius, and Vriska and Gamzee are the only ones left.

“Oh.” Everyone laughs, and Vriska blushes a little. She looks up at Gamzee; he’s smiling lazily. “Okay.”

Vriska passes the present to Kanaya, who passes it on until it reaches Gamzee. She winces when his big, meaty hands nearly crush it. He rips the paper off none too carefully.

“It’s…” he squints at it a little. “Oh, _yeah._ That’s the shit. Fuckin’ awesome, sis. Thanks.”

“You got him a _bong?_ ” Karkat exclaims.

Vriska smiles awkwardly, embarrassed.

“No, man, it’s fucking bitchtits,” says Gamzee languidly. “Look, s’all pretty, the glass has all these colors on it. Miracles, man.”

Next to Vriska, Terezi cackles away. Vriska’s just relieved that Gamzee likes it. She had absolutely no idea whatsoever to do when it came to him—she just hoped he needed a new bong.

Karkat elbows Gamzee, and he stops staring at the bong for a minute. “Oh, yeah. Right.” He passes his package around the circle.

It’s not that big, and lumpy; Gamzee did the shittiest job of wrapping it that Vriska’s ever seen. She doesn’t feel too bad about shredding it to get to the contents. She’s left with a small box and a bottle the size of her hand.

“Um. Vodka?” That’s actually a pretty good present, Vriska thinks. She likes vodka. “And…oh man, this is cool.”

“You’re all up and spidery, yeah,” Gamzee answers. Vriska carefully fastens the spider clip into her hair and grins.

“This is great, Gamzee. Thanks.”

It’s only later, when everyone is sitting around the kitchen with hot chocolate and cookies laughing and talking, that Vriska finds Gamzee in a dim hallway. He’s got the bong in his hands, turning it over and over, fascinated by the colors.

“Hey,” Vriska says.

He looks up. “This is real nice, spidersis,” he tells her. “Spot on. You really know me.”

“Right.” She laughs. “Yours’ was pretty great, too.”

In the scant lighting, Gamzee’s teeth are bright white, gleaming like fresh snow. Vriska’s never noticed how pretty his eyes are. They’re so blue that they’re nearly purple, and deep and rich.

“Want some?” She holds up the bottle and unscrews the cap. “Can’t have a real Christmas unless you’re at least tipsy.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Gamzee accepts the bottle, takes a sloppy swig, and wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve, then passes it back to Vriska. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.” Vriska takes a sip herself, then lets it dangle from her fist loosely. It burns going down, but in a familiar way that spreads warmth through her limbs.

They stand there, passing the bottle back and forth for a while, and Gamzee’s smile gets bigger and brighter as Vriska’s sight gets blurrier and blurrier. Eventually, she sags against him, laying her head on his shoulder.

“You’re cool,” she says. “Wish we knew each other better.”

“We can,” he says.

“Yeah. Guess that’s true.”

When Gamzee laughs, it rumbles through his whole chest, vibrating through her skull and jolting her teeth. He smells like a mix of pot smoke and beer and stale cologne, and it should be disgusting, but it’s actually comforting. Vriska likes it. She likes him.

 _Huh,_ she thinks, _maybe I could get used to this._


	10. dave/condesce - baking revolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "this year like every year, Dave Strider is cooking a plan to finally take down Santa. At least it's what he tell to everyone. This year, he is rather... distracted." -scholaroftrivia.  
> this was HILARIOUS. oh my god. definitely the most unique prompt i've gotten. and tbh alpha!dave <3

“Dave. It’s _Christmas._ Can’t we drop this for just one week?”

“It’s a _revolution,_ Rose,” says Dave. “We can’t just take a break whenever we fucking feel like. We are _always_ on guard.”

Rose rolls her eyes. “This is about your plan, isn’t it? Your plan to take down Santa because you think he’s one of the Batterwitch’s agents?”

“He is! How do you think she gets her mind control out to all those young, impressionable kids? Free candy! Free presents! All installed with the latest microchip, guaranteed to make you forever loyal to CrockerCorp!”

“I can’t believe it. You’re even more cynical than me.”

Rose sits down on the one dirty bed in the small, dirty apartment where they’ve been hiding, holed up since September. “Honestly, Dave. We’re safe enough here; they haven’t found us yet; and you’re deluding yourself if you really think you can catch _Santa Claus,_ much less take down the Batterwitch and CrockerCorp all by yourself.”

“Ah, but I’m not all by myself. I have you, don’t I?” Dave walks over to her and leans over, but Rose rolls away.

“Not this time,” she says.

*

He’ll show her. He’s dead serious. This year is going to be the year, he knows it.

Dave has to admit he feels pretty bad about using his younger brother as bait, but  Dirk’s a smart kid; Dave raised him to shun Christmas and every other corporate-run holiday. That kid’s going to prosper long after Dave’s gone. Plus, if everything goes right, it’s not like “Santa Claus” is going to get anywhere near his little blond head.

It’s a simple plan, really; simpler than most of his other ones, and so obvious Dave wonders how he hadn’t thought of it before. Santa can never resist cookies; therefore, CrockerCorp Santa must be even more susceptible to copious amounts of CrockerCorp cookies. It’s the perfect plan. All Dave has to do is wait—wait and bake.

“You smell like the fucking Batterwitch herself,” Rose calls. “Except with a lot less seawater.”

“That’s the point, Rosy,” Dave yells back. “You want one?”

“Don’t tell me you’re actually planning on _consuming_ those abominations.”

“Hell no. What do you think I am, an idiot?”

Dave can nearly hear her shaking her head in the other room. “Sometimes, I’m not sure.”

He bakes. He bakes for five days straight; he bakes so long and so hard that he fucking _dreams_ about cookie dough every night, jerks it in the shower to thoughts of flour and sugar—which, _ew_ , he just can’t get it off of his mind, it’s disgusting. But there’s no way any good Crocker-obedient servile Santa would be able to pass up the luscious pile of cookies he’d created. This year, Dave knows it’s going to work, whatever Rose tries to imply about his the state of his sanity. They’ll be one step closer to freedom from the tyranny of the baked goods company—starting with reclaiming the holidays.

Finally, Christmas Eve dawns on the dull gray city. It snows. Rose is still sleeping when Dave sneaks out, his hundreds of cookies piled into a bag slung over his shoulder. (He is fully aware of the irony of his stance; in fact, he basks in it, because he is a Strider, and Striders get off on that kind of thing.) He tiptoes through the empty streets to the place where he used to live with his baby brother. He can barely remember the way; it’s been years since he last visited—he’s been trying to protect Dirk from the sting of the revolution in every way that he can. But now, his younger brother has to get involved. Just for one day. As soon as Christmas is over, Dave will move him out to the ocean like he’s been meaning to, where nobody will be able to touch him, least of all the Batterwitch. But today, he needs a child.

Every apartment in the colorless city is installed with a chimney—yet another sign that Santa is a construct of the Batterwitch’s. Dave slips into his apartment, silent, and deposits his sack by the base of their fireplace, making sure the scent drifts upward.

And then he waits.

He waits long and hard while Dirk sleeps; waits vigilantly, tirelessly, never moving from his spot, eyes always on the fireplace. He waits for so long that his blood thickens and his pulse slows and he nearly becomes complacent.

And then there is a thump, and into the fireplace step two small, delicate, pink-shoed feet.

And Dave goes _Oh, shit._

The Condesce herself—the Batterwitch, Scourge of the Oceans, Evil Incarnate—pours from the chimney, lithe as seawater, trailing masses of sooty black hair behind her, and straightens. She casts her luminously yellow eyes about until they catch on the sack of cookies.

“Strider,” she says, “you ain’t fooling nobody.”

“I must admit, I didn’t expect you personally to pay a visit.” Dave steps from the shadows, chin held high, trying his best not to look like a man so completely and utterly fucked that he should rightfully coalesce into a little black ball of terror.

The Batterwitch smiles, displaying row after row of perfect, shiny, sharp little teeth. “Yeah, well, you were never that smart.”

Dave grits his teeth and forces himself to walk forward, because now he’s not just bargaining with his own life—he’s playing for Dirk’s, too, and he can’t forget that. “My plan worked.”

She snorts. “Plan? You crayfish.”

 _God,_ her puns are insufferable.

“I knew aboat this. Of course I did. I make shore to know what all my anemones are doing all the time. You can’t swim past the Condesce, guppy.”

“Anemones?”

“You fucking know what I mean!”

“God,” says Dave, “I hate you so fucking much.”

“Good.”

The Condesce’s smile has got to be the creepiest motherfucking thing he has ever seen in his life.

 And then she grabs him by the front of his wrinkled old suit, claws tearing holes in the worn fabric, and pulls him down to her height, and fucking _kisses_ him, hard enough that her wicked teeth draw blood from his lips. She tastes of sugar and salt and it mixes unpleasantly in Dave’s mouth and he wants to retch.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “You’re as shit at kissing as you are at everything else.”

And then the Batterwitch absconds into the night sky, and Dave is left with bloody lips, a sack of CrockerCorp cookies, and a confused, raging hard-on.


	11. neprezi - space shippers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "terezi and nepeta as matesprits shipping and bringing joy to their fell trolls in a sburbless au(possibly in space)" -anonymous  
> ooh this one was really interesting! tons of cool elements to work in, i liked it a lot. plus, an exucse to unabashedly SHIP!!!

This is the first Twelfth Perigee’s that Nepeta has ever spent away from home. For the most part, she’s excited, but she also misses her lusus, and her cave, and her forest, and having a _real_ behemoth leaving in her hive as opposed to the scentless, synthetic mimicry they have to make do with aboard the _Annihilator._

But for the first time, she’s spending Twelfth Perigee’s with someone other than her catmom and moirail. This sweep, she is older; old enough to join her friends aboard the _Annihilator,_ and to traverse space with them, raining Imperial law and destruction onto lesser planets. This sweep, she is at an actual Twelfth Perigee’s Eve party! She feels so grown up. And—most importantly—this sweep, she has a _matesprit._

A matesprit who is currently giggly, pressed up against her side, and possibly slightly intoxicated.

“I love parties,” Terezi slurs. “I _looove_ Twelfth Perigee’s Eve parties, Nepeta.”

Okay, definitely slightly drunk, but that’s okay. They don’t have to be on duty for the next three days. They deserve a break.

“I know!” Nepeta exclaims. “This is so exciting! Everyone is having so much fun.”

Terezi peers out at the crowd and sniffs delicately, and Nepeta tries to imagine what she is smelling. Surely she’s gotten a snoutful of licorice-black space, punctuated with the heady violets of galaxies, from the view out the wall of glass opposite to them; in front of that dance the blurring spots of color, honey and grape nd blueberry and evergreen and cinnamon, that are their friends.

“Ah, yes,” Terezi says, and her face breaks into a smile, full of sharp, jagged teeth. “Mister Salty Violet is finally making his move.”

“Where?” Nepeta sits up, her eyes scanning the crowd hopefully.

Terezi gestures vaguely at the party; Nepeta searches until she sees Eridan, dapper in a waistcoat and with his horns polished until they shine, standing in front of the galaxy window. He is extending his hand hopefully to Aradia.

“Jegus,” whispers Terezi. “My OTP.”

Aradia places her hand in his, and they begin to dance.

“ _Yes!_ ” Terezi and Nepeta collapse into each other, a bundle of happiness and cheer and laughter. “I knew it!” Nepeta exclaims. “I _knew_ they were flushed!”

“You did know it!” Terezi agrees happily. “Do you think this means that you’re right about any of your other pairings?”

“Well…” Nepeta once again turns her eyes to the crowd and finds her moirail, standing in the corner, talking to someone tall and skinny and mustardy.

“Hmm. What do you think?”

“Sollux and Equius?” Terezi sniffs harder in their direction. “They certainly _smell_ very happy.”

“They both like robots and computers! And they both used to like Aradia! And they’re both not very good at socializing…”

“A serendipitous match, to be sure,” Terezi cackles. “Watch out, Nepeta! Your moirail may soon become… _involved._ ”

Nepeta claps  her hands excitedly. “Eqkitty deserves someone that makes him happy! Oh, this is so wonderful. I love Twelfth Perigee’s.”

“Very romantic,” Terezi agrees.

 _Very_ much so. There are so many new ships that Nepeta discovers at the party! Feferi and Kanaya spend half the night talking excitedly and nearly _cuddling_ on the couch—it is hard to contain her excitement; they are just so _cute!_ —and even Karkat and Vriska are caught under the mistletoe (mistletoe that absolutely was _not_ planted there in hopes of this very kind of thing happening by Nepeta and Terezi) and when they pull away, they both look a good deal more flushed than they need to be. And then Feferi runs up to Vriska to talk to her about it straight away—a pale solicitaion if Nepeta has ever seen one! Oh, how _purr-fect!_

Aradia makes her way over partway through the night and sits down, slipping her shoes off, and Terezi falls over onto her immediately. “So,” she says, her sharp smile making another appearance. “You are quite the dancer, Miss Deep Cherry. You danced half the night away with Eridan, did you not? Don’t lie to the prosecution.”

“ _Terezi,_ ” Aradia says bashfully, but she giggles. “It…was fun. Eridan’s not such a bad guy.”

“Aha!” Terezi reels back. “A flushed crush! The prosecution rests, your honor.”

“You’re silly,” retorts Aradia. She sticks her tongue out at Terezi. “It’s a little early to be calling it a flush crush, honestly. It was _one dance._ ”

Terezi raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, two or three. Or a lot.”

When Aradia leaves, Terezi falls back against the couch, smiling goofily.

“I think you have a crush of your own!” Nepeta says. “Do tell me, Terezi, who do you ship _Aradia_ with in her pale quadrant? And for that matter, who do _you_ have in your conciliatory sights?”

Terezi doesn’t answer, but flushes teal enough that Nepeta doesn’t need her to say anything.

“That’s _adorable!_ ” she purrs.

“I think it is time to retire to my respiteblock,” says Terezi. “The prosecution heavily opposes this line of questioning and wishes to retreat. It is nearly dawn.”

It really _is_ quite late; Nepeta could use some rest.

“Okay,” she says. “But you should make a move, Terezi, really! I have it on good intelligence that she may, in fact, reciprocate.”

“ _Really?_ ” Terezi shoots up straight; it’s the most alert she’s been all night.

“Rest now,” Nepeta says. “Talk to her tomorrow! After all, tomorrow is Twelfth Perigee’s Day. Perfectly romantic.”

“You are a shipping mastermind,” Terezi says fervently, and kisses her. In public. Nepeta can feel her cheeks turning deep olive. “I love you.”

“Really?”

For the first time, Terezi’s smile cannot be described as sharp. It’s soft now, and the most sincere she’s ever seen it. “Merry Perigee’s.”


	12. vriskat - alone together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Vriska invites Karkat to her hive for christmas since he's all alone for the holidays, and he is welcomed by a lavishly decorated home and a bragging Vris." -anonymous  
> i think it's really fitting to end the series on a vriskat haha  
> well, this is the last one!!! have a happy christmas, hanukkah, kwanzaa, twelfth perigee's, or whatever it is you celebrate, and thank you for reading!

Twelfth Perigee’s Eve. What a strange thing to celebrate.

Karkat stares around his bare hive—bare as every sweep this time of sweep—and forces himself not to feel any smidgeon of regret or pity for himself. That would be ridiculous. He’s done this every other year since he emerged from the caverns, a friendless, mutant, lonely grub, and he’ll keep doing it.

Losing Crabdad was hard, yes, but he’ll make it through. He did not survive this long to die of loneliness and ennui.

Karkat circles back to his husktop for the thousandth time this hour and checks his chumroll again, futilely. Still nobody. Of course, they’re all with their lusii and moirails and matesprits, dancing and kissing and being happy.

Wait. Make that one person.

arachnidsGrip [AG] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]

AG: Karkat.  
AG: Kaaaaaaaarkat.  
AG: C’mon, I know you’re there. Don’t play coy.  
CG: WHAT DO YOU FUCKING WANT, VRISKA?  
AG: Hey, hey, it’s Twelfth Perigee’s! No need for that.  
CG: I’M REALLY UNBELIEVABLY NOT IN THE MOOD FOR THIS RIGHT NOW.  
AG: I’m not trying to pick a fight. Really  
AG: What are you doing right now?  
CG: WHAT?  
AG: What are you doing. Simple question.  
CG: TALKING TO YOU, BULGELICKER.  
AG: Oh, I see.  
AG: Alone.  
AG: Karkat, do you want some company on the holiday? You can’t be alone on Perigee’s!  
CG: WHO SAYS?  
CG: MAYBE I’M PERFECTLY HAPPY RIGHT NOW.  
CG: MAYBE I LOVE BEING BY MYSELF.  
CG: MAYBE I DON’T EVEN LIKE TWELFTH PERIGEE’S.  
AG: Oh, ha ha. You’re a shitty liar.  
AG: Come to my hive! You know where it is ::::)  
CG: GIVE ME ONE REASON THAT IS IN ANY WAY SOMETHING I WOULD WANT TO DO.  
AG: You’re lonely.  
AG: I know you are.  
AG: And because no one deserves to spend their holidays alone.

arachnidsGrip [AG] ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]

 _God,_ she infuriates him. She infuriates him because she’s fucking right. All. The. Time.

Karkat slams his head onto his desk, and then gets up, pulls on his winter coat, and exits out into the cold night.

*

Vriska’s hive is surprisingly not too far away. He makes it there in an hour on foot, though he’s nearly frozen through by the time he arrives. He remembers her hive well—the massive monstrosity of a castle, perfectly reflecting Vriska’s ego.

But now, it’s all decked out in red and green, decorations strung around every spire. Maybe there’s an advantage to having a spider as a mom.

Vriska is waiting just inside the doorway with a blue sweater, a cup of hot chocolate, and a very self-satisfied smile. “Welcome to the Serket hive!” she exclaims. “Come in.”

Karkat takes the hot drink and pours it down his throat, gasping as warmth infuses itself back into his extremities. “Hey,” he says. “Nice decorations.”

“Aren’t they?” Vriska’s grin gleams. “It’s even better inside, come on.”

Vriska’s gone all out on the decorations. Every banister is strung with tinsel; every wall is lavished with wreaths. She has a leaving in _every fucking room._ “When did you have time to do all of this?” Karkat asks in wonder. “Don’t you have places to be? Parties to be at?”

For the first time since he arrived, Vriska’s self-satisfied smirk droops a little. “Not really,” she says. “But that’s okay. Decorating is fun!”

She serves dinner soon. It’s the best grubloaf Karkat has ever had. They eat it in the drafty dining hall, under a vaulted roof that stretches miles over their heads, and then Vriska pulls out the alcohol and they both partake heavily, which is admittedly kind of fun, despite all the advice Crabdad used to give Karkat against it.

Vriska’s tongue loosens slightly when she is tipsy. She says things she normally wouldn’t, and it’s surprising to Karkat, who has only ever known her as someone highly guarded in every aspect of her personality. He can even talk to her like a _normal troll._

“So, you spend a long time on these decorations,” he says. “Must have some awesome Twelfth Perigee’s Eve parties in this place, yeah?”

“Not really,” Vriska answers.

Karkat raises an eyebrow. “Why not? I’m not one for parties, but even I can see they’d be great.”

“Nobody comes around much,” she says candidly.

“Really? I thought Equius lived right next door. And Terezi and Kanaya and Gamzee—they’re all pretty close to here, aren’t they?”

She sniffs a little, a haughty sound. “Yeah. Like they’d spend their holidays with me.”

And it’s then that Karkat realizes: despite all her grandeur, her attitude and her airs, Vriska is not popular. Vriska does not have many friends. Vriska is a lonely person—just like him.

“Hey.” He puts his hand on her shoulder. “I never had anyone over for Perigee’s before, either. Couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Cause of—um—well, the blood thing.”

Vriska nods sagely. “Ah, right.” And God bless her, she doesn’t ask any more questions.

Sometime during the night, they find their way up to the top of one of Vriska’s turrets. It has an amazing view of the lawnring at night, all the hives lit up for the holiday, glowing merrily. It looks like the night sky, filled with stars. It’s cold up there, though; and Karkat’s fine in his huge gray sweater, but Vriska’s sweater is thinner, too thin for the winter air. He wraps her in his arms.

And for the first time in both their lives, Karkat and Vriska do not feel alone on Twelfth Perigee’s Eve.


End file.
